Damnable Words
by tall oaks
Summary: Neither the Potions master or the school matron saw the look Argus Filch had on his face.
1. Chapter 1

Thank you to my wonderful friend and beta, Cecelle. You make me a better person and writer.

Saturday, January 9, 1982

"How many birthdays did you share with Lily? Her son had but one," Albus Dumbledore said as he sat down for breakfast and reached for the toast caddy.

Severus Snape's hand, poised to cut the top off an egg, dropped the knife noisily onto the charger plate. Suddenly nauseous, he swallowed deeply as the bile rose in his throat. The young wizard glanced at the Headmaster. Dumbledore had a studied expression of innocence on his face, all the while scooping a heaping spoonful of marmalade onto a slice of toast.

_The man could have been a Slytherin._

He should have known the Headmaster would choose today to rub more salt into the very large wound that was Lily. The man almost seemed to enjoy seeing his former student's discomposure by bringing up her name when he least expected it. Except, having spied, he should have known to expect the unexpected—from anyone at any time—especially from the most powerful wizard alive.

The young Potions master perused the Great Hall to see if anyone had noticed his discomposure.

A few of the older members of Gryffindor, who remembered him as a glowering seventh year, hurriedly looked away from his intense black glare. They seemed to believe he knew exactly what they were thinking, and Snape was not about to dispel their suspicions.

Severus had felt a bit out of his depth; he had no idea how to teach. Albus Dumbledore had given him a teaching job and otherwise little more than Slughorn's old teaching guides. They consisted of a jumble of potions that didn't logically progress forwards.

With some trepidation, he had approached the Deputy Headmistress a few days before he began teaching. He'd been aware that his old Transfigurations teacher had not particularly liked him when he was a student, but all the same, she had always been moderately fair in her dealings with him. He thought she might be relatively open to his plight.

"Students will try to take advantage of you if you don't establish yourself as their professor," she had said. "You're not so long out of school not to know that, Severus. At the same time, not allowing students to make mistakes will not teach them how to figure things out on their own."

He had mulled over the witch's suggestion. _No, I don't agree with allowing them to 'find things out on their own.' It's absolute idiocy._

"I suggest you follow Horace Slughorn's curriculum for a term before you make any decisions about changing it," McGonagall suggested as she poured two cups of strong tea. "Instruct the first and second years on the basics; it's the only way to give the young witches and wizards a firm understanding of the principles of magic." She waved one cup over to Severus.

In the end, it had been the Head of Gryffindor who had given him practical information on how to teach, not the Headmaster. Dumbledore had left him to succeed or fail on his own intrinsic ability.

Hogwarts students learned very quickly that the new Potions master was strict and quick to take points for the slightest infraction—real or imagined. The students noted that trying to get in good with Professor Snape was pointless; he wasn't interested in furthering himself through social connections the way his cheerful predecessor had been.

In fact, they seemed to think he was rude, sarcastic, and impossible to please. He would beg to differ about being rude; he was merely honest. Yes, he knew he had a biting sarcasm; but then who wouldn't if they'd heard the pitiful excuses his students gave him?

"Professor Snape, Trevor's cat peed on my scroll_."_ Severus had demanded to see the urine stained homework, and then had taken five points from Hufflepuff when Bones couldn't produce the scroll.

"I had detention with Mr. Filch until eleven last night, in case you forgot." He had given Weasley another detention for his attitude.

"Sir, Morgana hexed my quill."

_The students must think I am an idiot if they think I'd fall for that!_ Severus thought as he glared at a Gryffindor walking past him.

He had a position of authority and wasn't afraid to use it. Snape found a modicum of self-satisfaction in getting revenge for all the humiliations he'd endured as a student. The focus of his negative attention tended to lean most often towards Gryffindors. Yes, he knew it was often petty, but it helped to assuage some of his resentment at the treatment he had received from four of their predecessors.

Even the students in Slytherin learned that he was difficult—that he constantly monitored and harangued them for a lack of cunning.

"You dunderheads would do well to learn the art of subtly," he'd tell them. Snape was no easy going Slughorn.

The other professors thought he favoured his own House—which was true. He did not want his House to lose points for stupidity. Severus wasn't so far removed from a student's life that he didn't want to see Slytherin victorious—at least over Gryffindor.

The banal conversations of the students annoyed him. The first years were aggravating because they spoke without permission, wiggled on their benches, and wrote as if they were complete illiterates. More than a fair few had fled his dungeon in tears when he tongue lashed them, and he didn't care.

Dumbledore had given him a job to do whether he was suited to it or not—and Snape did not like very much. Thus far the Headmaster hadn't complained about the way he ran his lessons or treated his students. When students complained about 'Snape,' Dumbledore corrected them with a firm reminder that he was '_Professor _Snape.' Though the Headmaster would reduce the punishments his Potions master meted out to Gryffindors more often than he cared to think.

Perhaps what Severus Snape found most irritating was Professor Dumbledore's attempts at condoling him. One December morning, looking over the top of his half-moon glasses, the old man put down his sugary cup of tea.

"I'm sure that with the passing of time you'll feel the pain recede, and you might _not_ think of her every day," the old wizard said with some sympathy. "The past is history, it cannot be altered. We, all of us, have to look to the future. Lily's son will one day enter the doors of Hogwarts. He might even want to learn about her from someone who loved her."

Severus felt angry, bile rising in his throat. He could only hope the brat looked like his father. He didn't want the boy to have her hair, her eyes, her anything. He'd forever be Sisyphus, condemned to only to see the child that should have been his and Lily's—if he had he not said those words—if James Potter had not stolen her heart from him—if he had not spoken those damnable words.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to my wonderful friend and beta, Cecelle. You make me a better person and writer.

Sunday, 9 January 1983

"Good morning," Madam Pomfrey said cheerfully as she sat down beside Severus Snape at the high table.

He grunted noncommittally. Breakfast was his least favourite meal as it heralded the start of another dreadful day of living in a castle with millions of noisy children.

Why would Albus Dumbledore keep him on as a teacher when he _knew_ he loathed teaching students who didn't have any real passion for the shimmering cauldron?

Ninety-nine percent of the wizarding world found Potions a boring discipline because it was subtle.

As a result, he resented having to try to teach the art to students who didn't feel it was exciting magic. It made his blood boil as he truly loved potion brewing. Brewing was an art form. In his opinion a finely brewed potion was the epitome of magic.

He'd put a lot of thought into it and had come to the conclusion that if he were to switch subjects, he wouldn't bear the same frustration and madness that he did in teaching Potions classes. If he taught Defense, he could keep his true passion to himself, and he'd show those miserable herd beasts a thing or two about flashy magic. What he knew would make them run in terror.

Therefore, he'd requested an audience with the Headmaster. Dumbledore had denied him the Defense position when it opened last summer. Severus thought the Headmaster was naive if he thought he would give up so easily. Severus Snape was not a wizard to back down from a fight. After breakfast, he made his way up to the Headmaster's study.

"No, I don't think it would be appropriate at this time. Finding a new Potions master is much more difficult than you'd think. A Defense professor is much easier to find, but then you know that, having had seven different ones while you were a student."

"None of them were any good!" Severus snarled. He wrapped his arms tightly across his chest while one boot tapped the floor impatiently. "I know the subject better..."

"I said _no_. I _won't _give you that position until it becomes absolutely necessary," the old wizard said emphatically, putting an end to the subject.

Snape sat frustrated and confused in the overstuffed chair in the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore's reasoning didn't sit quite right with him; there was definitely something the old wizard wasn't willing to share.

_Fine, _Severus thought bitterly.He could change tactics; his life had once depended on it. He would try for something else instead.

"I want only students that achieve an 'O' in my NEWT level classes from now on."

Albus Dumbledore's blue twinkling eyes studied him for a moment. "That's much too selective; not many students achieve an 'O' in Potions, Severus."

"My point exactly, Headmaster. I'm wasting my time on a lot of cretins whose only purpose in taking the class is to try to impress some Ministry lackey with the number of NEWTs they achieved," Severus replied, argument in his tone.

"The number would be too few to justify..."

"Which is the very reason I need to change the curriculum," he interrupted forcefully. "It does not present a proper challenge to the students, and illustrates no progression in complexity. It may have suited Professor Slughorn, but it does not suit me!"

Dumbledore sat back in his chair and popped a humbug into his mouth. He rolled it around for a while as he thought.

_Delaying tactic_! Snape's mind screamed out.

"Very well, I will consider the matter. Come up with a plan for me to look over..."

Severus pulled a rolled up scroll from one voluminous sleeve and flung it onto the desk.

Professor Dumbledore waved the scroll across the ornately carved desk, into his beringed hands, and unfurled the parchment. Adjusting his half-moon spectacles, he began to read. Obviously the wizard hadn't expected Severus to have a plan ready to present to him.

_Maybe the all-seeing, all-knowing wizard wasn't quite so all-seeing after all._ Severus kept his feelings, burgeoning to escape, free from his face. As he waited, Dumbledore's hand absently reached for a sherbet lemon. Both eyebrows rose as he at first scanned and then thoroughly read the four foot scroll.

"Don't you think you're a bit ambitious with this curriculum? Some of what you're proposing to teach would be well beyond the ability of what the upper forms currently know. You are making it too difficult for them to meet your standards, Severus," the Headmaster said, shaking his head.

"I would like to initiate this program with the first and second years; the older students that began under Professor Slughorn will never meet my expectations," Severus responded in what he hoped was a conciliatory tone.

Albus Dumbledore look genuinely astonished at Severus' dismissal of his old Potions master. "You did quite well with a program that has been..."

"Because I was interested in the subject and did a lot of research on my own," Severus interrupted impassionedly.

"Lily had..."

"Why must you bring her into this?" the Potions master exploded. He paced the room like a caged animal, his robes snapping as sharply as sheets drying on a line as he moved.

"Only to say she had remarkable talent, Severus. She was very, very good with potions, yet, under your plan, Li—she would not be permitted into your class," Dumbledore said, appeasing the agitated man.

Snape continued to pace restlessly. "I don't think teaching Slytherins and Gryffindors together is prudent. It's far too disruptive for me to keep them from one another's throats, while I try to pound a lesson into their heads at the same time."

Sighing deeply, the Headmaster leaned forward in his chair. "I've told you that historically Hufflepuffs don't do well when they are put with Gryffindors in Potions lessons; Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff is the better mix."

"So I have to suffer because of it?" Severus stopped abruptly; his robes swirled about his legs.

"Severus, Severus, why are you so touchy today?"

"Because you never listen to me. You always dismiss my concerns as irrelevant," the Potions Master said as he rushed to the door and flung it open.

He was halfway down when he heard Professor Dumbledore call. "Happy birthday!"


	3. Chapter 3

Monday 9 January 1984

Severus Snape was late for breakfast because of an owl from the parents of one of his first year charges. He walked quickly into the Great Hall, his black robes billowing behind him.

Albus Dumbledore was tucking into a bowl of corn flakes; white grains of sugar were falling from his spoon onto his long white beard.

Minerva McGonagall was drinking a steaming cup of what he assumed was tea. He'd learned last winter, when he'd accidently picked up the wrong cup, that the witch drank hot toddies in the colder months. He'd been slightly shocked at his discovery. She'd always seemed too much a prude to drink—much less at breakfast.

The witch acknowledged him with a crisp nod of the head.

The Potions master looked out over his Slytherins before filling a bowl with oatmeal. He had a twinge behind his eyes.

_Oh joy, a headache brewing._

He was relieved that Dumbledore hadn't turned to speak with him during breakfast; it was a relief to eat in peace for once.

The bell rang to indicate the beginning of the school day. Students rushed past him in a cacophony of noise. A student barreled into him as he walked around a corner. The twinge became a full-blown headache.

"Five points from Ravenclaw for running into a teacher," Severus snapped. He instantly regretted his too loud voice. This was definitely going to be a day that tested him. His first two classes were first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, to be followed by seventh year Slytherins and Gryffindors.

The first years now had several months' brewing experience. He'd had half a dozen cauldrons explode in this class over the past week. The young witches and wizards didn't realize how often their professor had kept them from a major disaster. They needed a firm hand and hawk-eyed supervision, even if they mistook these for chastisement and unnecessary strictness. The need for his constant vigilance was getting old very fast.

The next class started with Snape's headache causing him to feel nauseous. As the students lighted the fires under their cauldrons, the bright flare nearly caused him to wince. Only his self discipline and years of self-preservation kept him from dropping to his chair. He'd never suffered these excruciating headaches as a student.

_Never let the bastards see that something is wrong._

With a wave of his wand, the Potions master put the instructions for the Amortentia potion the students would be attempting to brew on the blackboard. Another wave of his wand opened the supply cabinet.

"The ingredients are in the cupboard."

_How many times over the past two and a half years_ _have I said that?_ he wondered wearily.

The class stared mutely at him.

"Well?" he asked sharply. "You only have two hours."

The witches and wizards scrambled to the cupboard. Most of his pupils quickly returned to their places and spread their ingredients out, leaving his cupboard in a jumble. He wanted to hex them for their carelessness.

Snape was pleased that his Slytherins began to work immediately. He knew what to expect from his students by now—both the good and the bad. Some, like McNair's younger sister Cordelia, watched him closely—too closely. He wished he was free to use his Legilimency on them, because he was certain they were questioned by his former companions in the Death Eaters about just what he was doing at Hogwarts.

He watched two Gryffindor boys huddle together and whisper furtively. Instinct kicked in, and Snape's keen ears caught the barely audible words, "Let's keep some and slip it in Cornelia's pumpkin juice at lunch."

The boys glanced back at the buxom Gryffindor girl two tables behind them and laughed rudely.

_Oh, I don't think so_, the Potions master thought.

Snape periodically prowled the classroom and corrected some students, but did not place particular attention on the two boys. In his opinion, those two illustrated everything that was wrong with Gryffindors. They consistently challenged him in class, caused enmity between Houses, and bitterly complained about "the bat of the dungeons" to anyone who would listen.

He noticed the beguiling scent of lilies rise from Brown and Gimbel's cauldron—her scent, Lily's scent, rose from four of the cauldrons in his classroom. The odor pulled at his broken heart.

"You have five minutes to bottle your potion and clean up," he said in a bored drawl.

Each of his students bottled a vial and took it to his desk. Snape watched as the students emptied their cauldrons and cleaned their work areas. All, that was, but Brown and Gimbel; they waited until Snape's view was blocked. With untoward speed, Brown ladled some of their remaining potion into a small bottle and slipped the container into Gimbel's robes. Nigel Brown had taken a second vial from his pocket when their professor pounced.

"Brown and Gimbel, turn out your pockets," Snape hissed.

They hadn't reckoned with a man whose survival had depended on not missing clues, no matter how subtle. The entire class heard the Potions master's tone and fell silent. They turned as one to stare at Brown and Gimbel. Startled, the two students tried to look innocent.

"S-sir?" Gimbel asked, gulping deeply.

"Turn...out...your...pockets," Snape ordered quietly. His head felt like it would explode from the pain at any moment.

"You can't ask us to do that," Brown argued.

The remainder of the class stood mutely; none of them wanted to have Snape's ire, much less his tongue, fall on them.

"You will turn out your pockets or face the consequences," he said, more calmly than he felt. _Arrogant little bastards._ "Perhaps you like the idea of spending the remainder of your final year in detention? Keep up this attitude, and that is what the two of you are getting."

"Professor Dumble—" Brown began, only to be interrupted by his teacher.

"Why don't the three of us visit the Headmaster's office?" he suggested dangerously.

Brown's face turned a livid red, while Gimbel paled considerably—he was easily led astray by his friend.

"Nigel, just turn out your pockets," one of the other Gryffindors cried out.

"Silence!" the Potions master snapped menacingly. One oily strand of hair caught on his hooked nose.

Gryffindor as well as Slytherin students all froze upon hearing Snape's deathly quiet voice.

Nigel stormed to the classroom door and flung it open with an echoing bang. A terrified Gimbel meekly left the room ahead of his professor.

As the trio neared Dumbledore's office, Professor McGonagall stepped off the moving stairway. Snape could see by the expression on her face that she was surprised to see two members of Gryffindor being lead by the head of Slytherin.

"Professor Snape, is there a problem?" she asked, casting a disgruntled glance at Brown and Gimbel.

"These two have flaunted the rules and hidden vials of the Amortentia potion in their robe pockets. They are well aware of the rules concerning the removal of potions without permission. They were going to place it in another student's pumpkin juice at lunch. Furthermore, they have refused to turn out their pockets."

"Is this true?" the witch demanded of the two teenagers.

Gimbel meekly handed the illicit vial to Professor McGonagall. He squirmed nervously while Brown wore a steely countenance of defiance and strong dislike for his Potions professor. Severus didn't give a rat's spleen if they liked him or not. Their opinion of him did not matter in the least.

"Anyone who thinks they can slip a bit of the Amortentia potion into the glass of a classmate will find themselves in detention for the remainder of the time they have at Hogwarts," Snape said with a dangerously quiet voice. Severus found a perverse pleasure in the fact that that Gimbel was close to wetting his robes.

McGonagall's eyes flashed angrily. "What have you two to say for yourselves?"

"We didn't think," Gimbel said meekly, "taking one tiny vial would be a problem."

"You didn't think it would be a problem? I am ashamed that two Gryffindors would act so irresponsibly."

With a snarl Snape said, "Don't you think such irresponsibly requires detention _every_ day for the remainder of the year?"

"We'll miss Quidditch practice!" Gimbel appealed to their Head of House.

"The next game is against Slytherin!" Brown added as his cockiness collapsed like a deflating balloon.

"You'll be missing the game! You should have thought of that when you decided to take a potion out of the dungeons," Snape said viciously.

"The two of you will be disappointing the remainder of Gryffindor because of your reckless actions," Professor McGonagall said tersely. "Professor Snape warned you about removing potions from his classroom, and you will pay the price for your folly!"

The two teenagers glanced resentfully at the Potions master.

"Shouldn't you two be in Charms? Away with you," his fellow Head of House said as she shooed them away.

The two professors watched the two young wizards turn the corner.

"Don't look so smug, Severus. It's only because it's your birthday that I'm agreeing that they should have detention—but five months is too much," she said, tilting her head to look up at Snape.

She opened the vial and smelled. "Oh, whisky!"

Snape frowned as the delicate fragrance of stargazer lilies overwhelmed him again.

His throat was thick when he said, "I'll not accept less than two months, ma'am."

"Done," the Transfigurations professor agreed. Minerva gave him a thin smile. "You're my colleague, Severus. It really is about time for you to call me Minerva."

The Potions master walked back to the dungeons with a feeling he couldn't place. A grain of pleasure had managed to burrow its way through the thick tar that coated his heart.


	4. Chapter 4

_As always, my gratitude to Cecelle. She never fails but to make me look better in print._

Wednesday: 9 January 1985

"Stop by for tea," Dumbledore had said.

It was pointless to refuse the invitation—an order really. He agreed to stop in for a minute or two in an attempt to forestall one of Albus' lavish cakes at supper.

'_I'll be lucky to get away with less than an hour or two,'_ Snape muttered to himself after the old wizard broke the connection.

At three Severus made his way to the Headmaster's office. He felt as if he was being dragged through the corridors by some invisible force, while his fingers tried to find purchase on the stone walls, as he screamed at the top of his lungs: 'Noooo, I don't want to go!'

He knew what was waiting for him when he arrived at the aerie: a great many very sugary cakes, biscuits, and pastries. He wasn't singled out for this treatment; every staff member had to endure the insanity.

The Potions master honestly thought Dumbledore purposely arranged multiple meetings during the week, just so he could have an excuse to order heaping platters of sweets. After every meeting, Snape went away with a headache from the sugar foisted off on him.

The aggravation built as he went at a snail's pace; he hoped to come across someone doing something wrong, so he'd have an excuse to not ride the steps up to the Headmaster's office.

'_Damn, I should have gone by way of Hagrid's hut. Some student is always straying over there. It would have been worth the walk_.' He'd purposely travelled a long and not quite circuitous enough of a path.

He soon found that he was standing before the _statue_, the gateway to Dumbledore's suite.

"You could do me a favour and _refuse_ to admit me," he said sourly to the griffin. It swiftly swung aside in a gliding motion.

"I didn't think you would," he muttered, and stepped onto the step. The old stone stairway spiralled upward. "I didn't think Hell was up."

The old wood door, battered and scarred from a thousand years of use, swung open, and revealed a room crowded with the rest of the staff, all wearing hideous paper party hats.

"Surprise!" the chorus called out. Confetti rained down on the Potions master's black hair. Albus pushed a hat onto his head and said, "Happy Birthday, Severus!"

He was definitely in Hell.


	5. Chapter 5

Thursday 9 January 1986

It was his birthday, and Severus Snape finally reached the point where he'd either pull out all his greasy hair or blast the dungeons into rubble. The final nail in the coffin was a new infestation of pests in his potions stores. He'd spent the past several years attempting to do battle with this recurring bother.

Severus had finished giving final instructions for the potion his first year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs would be attempting. He felt quite confident they would be able to deal with a simple Boil Cure Potion with a minimal amount of attention. When he'd sent the group to his cupboards to collect the necessary ingredients, he picked up a stack of scrolls to grade.

Loud shrieks of fright followed by the rapidly approaching scrabble of feet alerted him that something unusual was occurring. The students rarely came closer to him than they needed to, except to turn in their assignments—even his own Slytherins kept a respectable distance.

"Silence!"

With his wand out, he pushed past the crush of prepubescent children and approached the cupboard with caution.

"No," wailed one of the timorous Hufflepuff girls. "Don't open it!"

With a snap of his wand, the door opened. Little hairy black things swarmed out into the room.

A renewed chorus of shrieks drilled into Severus' ears like an ice pick.

"Doxies!" he hissed through clenched teeth. The boxes of porcupine quills, dandelion puffs, raven feathers, dragon scales, and smothering moss were shredded masses of drool.

_Damn, and damn again!_

The doxies quickly spotted a new food source—the students' uniforms. The children swung at the pests with anything they could reach, including the scrolls on their professor's desk.

"Coughlin," Snape snapped at one of the Ravenclaw boys, "you are to find Mr. Filch and inform him there is an infestation he needs to deal with. When you've done that, you and the remainder of this class will write two scrolls—due next lesson—about the damage vermin can cause to potion ingredients."

"Yes, Professor Snape," Coughlin said and ran for the door.

"Not yet, you fool! I have to immobilize the doxies before you open the door, or they will infest the entire school!" With the slash of his wand, the doxies fell heavily to the stone floor.

"Out," the Potions master ordered.

The students were remarkably quick in exiting their dungeon classroom.

Severus moved as a force of nature into the upper regions of Hogwarts. Barely restraining the urge to run up the moving stairs, Snape felt no such restraint with the door.

"I'm leaving," he stated abruptly, turned on his heel, and sped back down the moving staircase. He did not know, or care, if Dumbledore objected to this unexplained behaviour.

Without stopping to gather his outer robes, Severus Snape trekked through the snow to the tall entry gates. Once outside of the protective wards, he Disapparated into a void of nothingness. Three heartbeats later, the Potions master appeared in front of The Leaky Cauldron.

_A stiff Ogden's won't do me any harm,_ he thought petulantly. _In fact, I deserve it._

A few wizards looked at him oddly. Catching his reflection in a window, Snape realized his hair stood out from his head where he'd pulled at it in his anger. Casually, he patted it into place. The drink was nursed for a good fifteen minutes while he thought about what else he could do to fend off both magical and conventional pests in his stores.

He realized that over countless years, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry must have lost countless—more than countless!—amounts of Galleons in potions ingredients to the vermin.

_Slughorn should have been doing more to lay down a line of defence_, Snape thought. _Except he was too busy climbing the social ladder of the wizarding world._

Replacing the cup on the bar, Severus Snape left the Leaky Cauldron and wandered down Diagon Alley.

A crush of ginger-haired children ran about their harassed looking mother. He recognized Molly Weasley.

"Fred, George, if you touch one more..." the witch threatened as she drove them down the street.

"Minerva wasn't joking. There are... one, two, three, and four more of them! I might just slit my wrists," he muttered quietly to himself, as he watched them disappear into the crowd.

Severus looked more closely at what the boys had been touching—an owl. He was across from the _Magical Menagerie_.

He crossed and stood to study the various creatures that hung in cages along the storefront. There were owls of all varieties, ravens, and hawks making all sorts of noise.

_Probably relieved that those brats are gone._

An owl, though it could see in very dim light, wasn't quite right for the narrow confines of the dungeons, Snape concluded and entered the shop doors. He gave the place a cursory look.

A case of poisonous orange snails rested on the counter, next to an irritated looking cat. He closely inspected the snails.

_Perhaps._

The cat jumped off the counter and wound its body around his legs. He gently pushed it aside and walked over to a terrarium of toads.

_No. Definitely no._

Snape moved over to a large case of black rats. They were playing some sort of game.

_Definitely no. I don't need to add to the problem. Perhaps a good snake will deal with the rodent problem._

The cat leapt onto his shoulder and pushed its large flat face into his.

_Yellow fur all over my robes!_

Severus reached up to remove the creature. Two immense golden globes looked directly into his molten eyes.

Snape froze. This was no ordinary housecat; this was a kneazle. The kneazle rubbed its head against his large hooked nose and purred a loud, rumbling purr. Its claws were needle sharp and drew small rivulets of blood from the Potions master's cheek.

"It's not bonded with nobody in a month of Sundays," the purse-faced clerk said and reached to relieve his potential customer of the pesky animal.

It hissed and batted with extended claws at the wizard's hand. "That kneazle barely allows us near to feed it."

"Clearly _you_ know who you want," Snape said to the kneazle before turning back to the clerk. "How much?"

Nursing a clawed hand, the man replied, "I'd ask fifty Galleons, but you might not take her off my hands. Twenty—I'll take twenty to be rid of her."

"Done!"

"You'll want a cage to carry her in." The clerk turned toward a display of wicker carriers.

The kneazle purred and wrapped her tail around Severus' neck. Clearly she didn't think she needed to be in a small prison.

An hour later, after returning to Hogwarts, the Potions master named his new kneazle Diana. Named after the Goddess of the Hunt, she'd hopefully be as efficient as her namesake. Severus made a little bed for her close to the door of his personal rooms, but she had her own mind. She promptly trotted into his bedroom and leapt lightly onto his bed. He couldn't but admire her single-mindedness.

Riding his shoulder, Diana was shown one of the areas Snape wanted her to patrol for vermin. More quickly than he'd hoped, Diana sped underneath a low piece of furniture. Snape heard a tussle and squeals—then nothing. The kneazle reappeared with a Strapstack in her mouth. She placed it at her master's black-booted feet and was off again. An hour later, a two foot pile of Strapstacks was placed in a rubbish bin and magically disposed of.

Diana was off again; she'd found yet another infestation of doxies. Snape immediately fire-called Mr. Filch to come and remove them.

In the Slytherin common room, the kneazle zoomed in on a nest of mice. Some of Snape's students stood gap-mouthed as the sturdy Diana dispatched ten mice before their eyes.

The Potions master returned to his classroom to grade scrolls. Tawny Diana sat on the corner of his desk, her short, stubby tail flicking minutely at the tip. There was a knock on the closed door.

"Enter," Snape said.

Minerva McGonagall entered and stopped in her tracks. Tilting her head, she looked over the tops of her square eyeglasses.

"Is that a _kneazle_?" the witch asked slowly. The Scottish lilt was strong in her words.

"Yes," Severus replied evenly.

"She wasn't here before," the Transfiguration professor stated.

The kneazle knew she was the centre of the conversation. She rubbed her cheek against the great hooked nose affectionately before turning to stare back at the witch.

"Certainly you didn't come to admire Diana? Did you want something, Minerva?" Severus asked as the long fingers of his hand played with the kneazle's tail.

"I came to ask if you'd support my choice for Head Boy next year. He has the marks and is well like by the other students," the witch said as she ticked points on her fingers. "Well, by most of the students, that is. Johnson has received good comments from his teachers—including you, Severus."

"If I agree to support you, what will you do for me in return?" he asked slowly.

"What is it you want?" she answered, her tone suspicious.

"You could try to keep the Headmaster from presenting me with one of his hideous birthday cakes today."

Minerva McGonagall perched lightly on the corner of the desk. "You couldn't just ask me to move Hogwarts somewhere warmer, could you? Or for Ravenclaw's goalkeeper to suddenly become spatially confused in the next Quidditch match against Slytherin?"

"You've been known to accomplish the near impossible," Severus said smoothly.

The witch blushed deeply. "Don't you try to charm..."

Professor McGonagall was interrupted mid-sentence by a crash of cymbals and horns, and confetti that rained down in streams. A four foot cake, iced in Slytherin's colours, floated serenely into the room.

Diana leaped onto the Potions master's shoulder. A growl sounded deep in her throat.

"Save yourself!" Severus Snape whispered into one of the kneazle's ears.

"Happy birthday!" the Headmaster cried out joyfully.

Severus found himself wearing a party hat. As did Diana. He tried to remove the hats only to find them firmly fixed to both their heads.

"Albus!" the Transfiguration professor said firmly. "Remove that kneazle's hat; it isn't dignified!"

"And it's dignified to make _me_ wear one?" the young professor protested snidely.

"Just cut the cake, or he'll have you wearing that hat until tomorrow morning," the witch advised from the corner of her mouth.

Defeated, Severus reached for the knife that Minerva had Transfigured for him, and cut through the thick green and silver icing.

"The cake isn't nearly as vulgar as it was last year, Severus," the witch said quietly.

"Let's see if you can say the same when your birthday comes round," the Potions master replied with a smirk.

"You know full well my birthday is during the summer holidays." Professor McGonagall said nervously.

"I know full well your birthday is in October!"

"You wouldn't....!"

"Oh, but I would," Snape said with a chuckle.

"Severus Snape, you are Slytherin to the core!"

"And proud of it!"


	6. Chapter 6

Friday 9 January 1987

It was at breakfast that Madam Sprout suddenly turned to the Potions master and exclaimed, "Snape, there isn't enough sex in my greenhouses."

Professor McGonagall choked on her whisky-laden coffee and began to cough loudly. Her face turned a brilliant red.

Rubeus Hagrid looked up from his large mixing bowl of porridge in surprise; his spoon tipped and dropped the cereal to the table top with a splat. Professor Filius Flitwick leaned forward on his many teetering cushions to more easily listen to what he hoped might be an interesting, if not amusing, conversation.

"I would think there are more than enough encounters in your greenhouses," Severus replied with studied aplomb, as he reached for another slice of hearty wheat toast. "In fact, more than a fair few students have found your gardens a romantic destination."

Minerva's eyes grew large in her face.

Flitwick fought to maintain his balance as he shook hard from trying not to laugh aloud.

"Yes," Pomona agreed thoughtfully. "I only wish their amorous moods wouldn't crush the sneezewort."

"You're not condoning student misbehaviour, are you?" Minerva McGonagall asked.

"Minnie, you're revealing your Calvinist roots again," Sprout replied.

"She's not as straight-laced as you'd like to think, Pomona," Snape said dryly. He enjoyed teasing the Scottish witch when he could—she always walked into his trap. "The good Professor likes to add a wee dram of..."

"Severus, the students might overhear!" Minerva snapped in embarrassment. The feathers on her pointed hat quivered violently with her agitation.

"If you are referring to her morning medicinal whisky..." Filius joined in the game.

"Professor Flitwick!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed in surprise. "I hardly expected you to be drawn into one of Severus' little…"

"You're all avoiding my subject," Pomona Sprout said emphatically. "I was talking about sex, and the lack of it in my greenhouses!"

"I don't see why you'd think Severus could possibly know anything about sex," Professor McGonagall said with a sniff.

"Thank you, Minerva," Snape interrupted sharply. _Cat!_

"But he isn't the innocent you think; I have firsthand knowledge that _he_ has flown the broom around the Quidditch—" Pomona started to reply.

"Professor Sprout! I hardly think this is a discussion we should be having in front of a room full of students," Professor Vector entered the conversation.

"I can say from recent experience that students try not to think of the word 'sex' in conjunction with their professors—ever," Severus replied firmly.

"Or their parents and sex," Sprout interjected with dreamy, faraway eyes. "As a child, I tried to pretend that I, like Thor, sprang from Odin's head—much like a tiny embryo pushing its way through the tough protective seedcase."

"I was just thinkin' about tha'," Hagrid said thoughtfully. "Been thinkin' about tryin' to breed a unicorn to a thestral—they're both equines of a sort. It'd be an odd lookin' foal, but it'd be a powerful creature…"

The professors looked at the Keeper of Keys with stunned expressions on their faces.

_I may never be able to look at Hagrid, and not think of that lovely image. I bet most of the others are thinking the same thing_, the Potions master thought to himself.

"I think we are, perhaps, losing the thrust of Pomona's initial question," Severus tried to bring the conversation back to its origins. "Frankly, I don't see that I can be of any help to you. Plants aren't my area of expertise."

"You use them in your potion brewing every day."

"Yes, I _use_ them. It doesn't mean I know anything about their particular methods of reproduction," the wizard said forcefully.

Professor Sprout frowned minutely. A small green beetle crawled down her sleeve and onto the table; she swept it to the floor distractedly. The witch opened and closed her mouth several times.

"I was hoping you might have an idea for some useful potion to encourage my Venomous Tentacula to reproduce in a timelier manner. As I recall, Severus, you asked for the plant in order to teach your students how to brew whateveritis.

"I was hoping you'd come down after your classes are completed and brainstorm with me just a little bit. However, if it is too much to ask of you, you can just think up some other obscure potion for your seventh years to brew!" the Herbology professor said with some hurt in her voice.

Severus looked at the others seated at the table; they all were suddenly intent on eating their breakfasts. Only Hagrid looked back at him through his bushy hair; the Potions master was unsure if there was censure in those bright black eyes.

"Of course, I'll come down after my last class. Though I don't know that I'll have any useful suggestions," he said.

"Oh, good! Why don't you meet me in the greenhouse?" the Herbology professor suggested.

"Fine," Severus replied wearily. "Shall we say five-thirty, then?"

***

Hours later, chilled to the bone, Severus Snape shortened his steps as he walked beside Professor Sprout. They'd spent a good hour and a half talking through what ailed the Venomous Tentacula. Snape had agreed to try to brew something to give a bit more inspiration to the troublesome plants. He was looking forward to a nice hot supper.

"I say, Snape. Do you mind if we stop off at my office? I have a—scroll; yes, a scroll for Professor McGonagall. You know how she is, always demanding that we give her our reports before they are due."

Severus did not reply, but followed the sturdy Pomona Sprout to her office. The Potions master opened the door for her to enter and found himself deafened by his colleagues combined calls of, "Happy birthday!"

_At least there isn't one of Dumbledore's outrageous cakes,_ the Potions master thought gratefully.

A loud pop sounded, and a bevy of house elves appeared, holding a towering cake that was dripping with icing, followed by a beaming Albus Dumbledore.

_I spoke too soon!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you Cecelle for covering my imperfections._

Monday, 9 January 1988

"Professor Snape!" The demanding voice preceded the opening of the heavy wood door. "You wanted my advice."

_Just what I need, two females to drive me insane, _he groaned inwardly.

"...And we need to move along," Poppy said in a rush. "It's Saturday, you've no classes, and we've limited time."

Severus ran his hand through his mussed black hair.

"Now get your cloak and meet me in the entry," the school matron said sternly as she walked out the classroom door. "You could comb your hair while you're at it. Do you think _I_ want to be seen with such a disreputable sort?"

Diana dropped lightly to the floor and wound about his legs as he walked across the Potions lab to his office. The Potions master opened his wardrobe and looked over the cloak choices. He kept two in his office: one for warmer weather, one for colder temperatures.

"Black or black?" he asked the Kneazle.

She poked her head into the wardrobe and reached out with one paw.

"The black then," Snape said in agreement. "You've exquisite taste, Diana."

Black cloak snapping behind him, Severus walked briskly to the entry hall, aware that he'd kept the school matron waiting quite long enough.

Madam Pomfrey stood to one side of the heavily reinforced doors. Instead of her usual starched uniform, she wore casual robes, sturdy hobnail boots, and a moleskin cloak draped over her shoulders.

In silence the two walked through one of the doors and out into the cold January day. Clouds came from each of their noses in the frigid Highlands air.

_Bloody cold,_ he thought grumpilyas he cast a Warming Charm on his person. He noticed that the witch beside him had quickly done the same.

With careful steps, the pair walked on the icy path toward the gated fence. Mr. Filch grumbled under his breath as he opened the gate. The caretaker did not look pleased to be out in such inclement weather.

Filch snapped, "It's cold out here. What time will you return?"

"I hope you're wearing warm drawers, because we may be gone some time," the witch replied with good humour as she turned on her hobnailed heel and began to walk down the slope toward the village.

The wizard's only choice was to follow.

"Where to first?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

The wizard clapped his gloved hands together for warmth before pointing at an innocuous looking shop.

Poppy Pomfrey glanced at the man beside her and followed him in through the door.

A plump clerk in a smock bowed obsequiously at the pair. "How may one serve Sir and Madam?"

"One may serve by buggering off until I've decided," Severus replied, not quite under his breath.

The clerk jerked backward, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. He undoubtedly had never had a patron take offense at his superciliousness before. Bowing, the plump man retreated to the counter.

The Potions master's black eyes roamed the small room until something caught his attention. His long legs took him to a small cupboard – a pile of thick-looking duvets. Deft fingers flipped through the stack, and he plucked one from the lot. Eyes narrowing, Snape felt the thickness of the item. He shook and turned it about, as if looking for some flaw.

Turning to the witch at his side, he held the duvet out for her to inspect. "Do you think this will do? Will it be warm enough?" he asked with concern in this tone.

Before Madam Pomfrey could reply, the shop assistant rushed up to the Potions master, excitement at a very profitable sale evident in his posture.

"You have made, if I might be so bold, an excellent choice. Your wife, Sir, will never complain about cold toes with _that_ duvet," the rotund little wizard said smugly as he beamed at the witch.

Severus heard Madam Pomfrey's snort of amusement and forced himself to count to ten before he hexed the annoying prat. His wand fairly tingled in his pocket as Snape's annoyance grew.

"The duvet is not for my wife," he growled. Snape turned back to the witch. "Do you think the down has too much loft? Will the quills poke through the fabric and cause irritation?"

"No," Madam Pomfrey answered as she felt the merchandise. "I think it is a sturdy material; I doubt you'll be bothered by the stray quill. As for the loft—well, that is a personal choice."

The clerk, seeing an ally in the witch, chimed in, "Sir deserves the best, and this is the very best! You will be, to be sure, protected from every unhealthy draught..."

"Unhealthy draughts?" Snape turned to Madam Pomfrey in as close to a panic as he ever came. "What if she gets a chill? What if _they_ get a chill?"

"Severus! You don't mean to say this is for your Kneazle?"

"Diana requires the best I can offer her," he uttered unapologetically as he counted out the coins.

"That feline is manipulating you," the witch said with humour, as she watched the clerk fold and tie a green ribbon about the bundle

Without shame, Severus tapped the parcel and shrunk it to pocket size.

Snape shrugged his shoulders as he tucked it into his robe pocket.

"At least I know where I stand with Diana; she doesn't play games with me," he said, and added sotto voce, "unlike others I am acquainted with."

The gloved fingers that were on his arm squeezed it slightly with a gentle reassurance. He looked up into the bright sky, and if tears teased his eyes, it could be explained away as a result of the light. His throat felt a bit thick and he found he needed to clear it.

"I think, Professor Snape, we should pay a visit to _Acromantulas to Yetis_. I don't doubt that Diana will soon be happy to have something to amuse the..."

A lovely witch with long red hair crossed in front of the young professor; she held an infant in her arms. Severus felt his stomach drop. Would the guilt, pain, and self-loathing ever disappear?

"...kittens. They will rapidly become a handful."

The Potions master attempted to appear his natural self, but the witch beside him was rarely befuddled by his attempts at concealment. Snape allowed Hogwarts' school matron to lead him to the local pet shop.

The door swung open to admit the magical pair. The mixed odours of wood chip bedding, animal urine, and various sorts of food stuffs swelled over them, neither pleasant nor unpleasant.

Poppy led him to one corner that had a variety of brightly coloured toys. He picked up one ball and shook it: it made the squeaking sound of mice. He placed it into the witch's hand. Then, he found a felted snake-shaped toy.

"Definitely this," he said wryly as he dropped it into Pomfrey's hand. Severus Snape soon had Poppy's hands laden with all manner of toys, from the conventional (bewitched play rats, puffskeins, and gnomes) to the unusual (flashing self-hiding balls—"guaranteed to give hours of fun"—and ever-playing string.)

The school matron said nothing when he paid seventeen Galleons for toys.

"My Diana needs the finest accoutrements," Severus said smoothly as he shrunk this package as well. "The sky is darkening; we should begin our return soon."

"I think you are correct, Severus. However, I would like to make a short stop at Madam Puddifoot's—we need to warm up before we begin our walk home, and you have a birthday to celebrate," Poppy exclaimed with a smile.

Severus couldn't contain the groan that blossomed from his chest.

"I promise to tell the headmaster that you ate a sumptuous feast, so you can avoid him and whatever hideous cake he dreams up at supper," she said coaxingly.

He regarded the woman's face briefly before nodding acceptance.

They each drank their favourite cups of tea and demolished the stacked tea tray of small sandwiches, scones, and pastries. Severus leaned back in his chair; he felt stuffed as one of Dumbledore's chairs.

He stretched his legs out toward the warmth of the fireplace. Life was becoming less hectic and more tolerable. The Potions master had few demands on him other than teaching dunderheaded students, his duties as head of Slytherin, and keeping tabs on his old Death Eater fellows.

He was reaching for another cucumber sandwich when he felt his familiar cry out to him over the distance: _"Now! Come now!"_

Severus whipped his cloak over his shoulders and urged the matron to move with alacrity. Dropping coins on the table, they rushed from the village and up the path to the school's gate.

Mr. Filch stood beside the gate with a frown on his face. "About time," he muttered.

The Potions master didn't slow down as he strode past the Squib and up to the front doors. He didn't slow his pace as he glided down the stairs to his dungeon quarters. Madam Pomfrey kept pace with his long stride. Neither noticed that Mr. Filch followed closely on their heels.

Diana howled with relief as Snape entered his bedroom. The creature's eyes illustrated that there was little time to dally.

Pulling out the green beribboned packet, Snape touched his wand to it. The griffin down was carefully arranged in the wood box beside his bed. Diana pushed it about with her feet, to make it more to her liking, before she lay on it.

Snape felt tears run down his hooked nose as a small, wet Kneazle kitten rapidly made an appearance, only to be followed by three others. It had been a long time since he'd last felt such unbridled joy.

"Oh, Severus," Madam Pomfrey murmured happily, "two of each!"

His throat felt too thick to reply, so he nodded his head.

The new mother licked her babies clean and pushed them to her teats. They latched on with determination, suckling with vigour while their tiny kitten paws kneaded at their mother's belly.

"I told you; she knew precisely what to do," Poppy said as she waved her wand to clean the bedding. "But I am glad you asked me to be here; it's always a joy to see a new being come into the world."

Severus sat with his back against his bed, one of his hands stroking Diana's head, clearly smitten with his Kneazle.

"She is perfect. I don't think there has been anything _so_ right in my life for a very long while. Just don't make this a habit, my love," he said quietly to the new mother. "I couldn't take the worry."

Diana gave her master's hand a quick lick with her pink tongue. Her eyes slowly closed as her head fell heavily into Severus' hand.

Neither the Potions master or the school matron saw the look Argus Filch had on his face. He was totally smitten.


	8. Chapter 8

Tuesday, 9 January 1990

Severus Snape shut the door to his Potions classroom with a resounding bang. In the years since he'd been named Potions master, there had been students that had tried his patience. Now they seemed to be only a minor inconvenience when compared to them—the duo, a brace of Weasleys.

_Thank God_, he thought with relief as he ground his teeth, _I don't have to deal with them again until Thursday!_

From the moment the two had entered his Potions laboratory, his need for diligence had been stretched even further than it normally was. Fred and George Weasley didn't seem to understand that they lacked the fundamental knowledge of the principles of brewing, and they were fearless.

Severus knew he had little patience for fumble-fingered nincompoops, and he resented having to spend time to try to instil in them a modicum of his craft. His pride—sense of self worth—reflected upon his own prowess as a master of the art. The Potions master's ego demanded that his students excel, and he was a harsh taskmaster. So when he had students with ability and creativity, he pushed them hard, and he pushed on the Weasley twins even though they were in Gryffindor. He saw the potential within Fred and George.

"Professor Snape, you have the Weasleys in detention again!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed as they sat in the Great Hall for supper that same evening.

Severus slowly looked over at the deputy headmistress. "Indeed."

Frowning, the witch pointed one bony finger in his direction. "You are making them fall behind in their other school work."

"_I_ am not making them fall behind in their other course work, Professor. _They_ are making themselves fall behind in their other classes, by their shenanigans in my lessons."

"Severus does have a point, Minerva," Professor Flitwick chimed in. "I, myself, find it difficult at times having the two boys in the same lesson. They often try to—what's the Muggle phrase?—'one up the other.'"

"Just so, Filius," Madam Pomfrey added dryly as she poured gravy over her beef. "I haven't had first years in a good long while that have demanded as much of my time as those two! Their enthusiasm is admirable, though their sensibility isn't."

"Can you believe this, Pomona?" Minerva seemed to find it inconceivable to have to defend herself on three fronts.

Madam Sprout, who'd been using her butter knife to clean dirt from under her nails, instantly froze.

_I don't think I've seen Minerva's feathers quiver so much since I was a student in her lessons_, Severus thought.

"I, ah, have to agree with..."

The Transfiguration professor had a smug smirk on her face, certain that the head of Hufflepuff, and fellow witch, would support her, while the remaining staff leaned in to hear Sprout's opinion.

"...Severus."

"What?" Minerva McGonagall hissed in dismay. "You agree with Severus?"

The assembled staff said as one, "Yes!"

Severus Snape felt a smile tug at his lips.

Mr. Filch, perhaps sensing a golden opportunity not to be missed, stomped over to the headmaster's seat. The Kneazle perched on his shoulder fought to maintain a foothold.

"Just allow me to put them in chains..." Filch wrung his bony hands with anticipated pleasure. The Kneazle struggled to remain fixed to his bony shoulder, lashing her tail about with angry jerks.

"Alas, I must disappoint you. The two lads are merely enjoying a bit of fun," Albus Dumbledore replied with a shake of his long white hair. "As I've often stated, the use of corporal punishment is no longer tolerated here at Hogwarts."

Minerva, with a sniff, nodded her head in agreement.

"That pair has been chasing my Mrs. Norris," the Squib, frowning deeply, added in argument.

"_She_ is an infernal busy body," the witch said with a sniff of disapproval,  
"who enjoys sneaking up on students!"

"My Slytherins aren't having any problems with Filch's Kneazle," Severus pointed out to the other staff members. "Have your Ravenclaws been inconvenienced by her, Filius?"

"I don't have the Weasley twins." Flitwick shook his head in feigned regret, though a smile tugged on the corners of his mouth.

A smattering of barely restrained snorts of amusement filtered down the table.

The witch shot a look of pure irritation at the hapless man.

_Perhaps today hasn't been quite so bad after all_, Snape thought happily.

"I blame you, Severus Snape, for getting us off the subject of your excessive detentions, and for permitting one of your familiar's litter to attach itself to Filch," Minerva McGonagall hissed through tightly clenched teeth.

"You're just jealous," Snape replied smoothly.

_This is much too easy!_

"Me? Jealous? Of what?" she snapped.

"Careful, Minerva, I think I see your hackles rising," Professor Flitwick slipped in with great skill.

_Well done!_ Snape thought gleefully. _He isn't a duelling champion for nothing!_

The witch's mouth formed into a large 'O'.

_My God, she's actually speechless!_

"You really don't like another female stalking the corridors and by-ways, do you?" Pomona quipped as she examined a bulb with careful nonchalance.

"W—what?" Minerva stuttered.

"Mr. Filch," the Potions master purred silkily, "I'd advise you to keep Mrs. Norris from crossing paths with our good deputy headmistress."

Minerva narrowed her eyes as she turned back to the Potions master. "Just what are you up to, Severus?"

"Why, nothing, Minerva."

"Oh ho," the witch stalled as her nostrils flared in irritation. "You are always up to something!"

"I think the plain truth is Mrs. Norris—like her mother—just gets under your skin."

"How did this conversation become about me, instead of your silly vendetta against the Weasley twins?" Professor McGonagall asked in confusion.

Snape smirked impishly at her like the bold first year he'd once been, perfectly aware he'd been caught doing wrong.

"Well, because it's your birthday," the witch said with dignity, "I'll drop the subject. But don't think you've pulled the wool over my eyes, young man!"

"I only present you with a ball of yarn, and it is up to you to choose to play with it," Severus replied.


End file.
